


Truth Serum

by Oryu404



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Awkward morning after, But they're temporary, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hangover, Idiots in Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Regrets, Tequila, They're always breaking furniture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oryu404/pseuds/Oryu404
Summary: 13 years of friendship, 4 years as college roommates, and countless nights of drinking and questionable decisions. None of them had ever led Rogue to suspect he'd one day wake up in his bed, hungover, naked, and with his best friend still asleep next to him.
Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Mashima's Heroes Big Bang





	Truth Serum

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Mashima's Heroes Big Bang event. I was paired with the amazing artist [@x-thekid](https://x-thekid.tumblr.com), who made the most gorgeous piece for this story! Go check it out here:
> 
> https://x-thekid.tumblr.com/post/644128078600224768/my-last-submission-for-mashimas-heroes-big-bang
> 
> and don't forget to shower her with compliments! 
> 
> Huge shoutout to Mdelpin, who watched this menace of a fic go through more rewrites and plot changes than I can count, and helped and supported me through it all. And to x-thekid and Akiko Natsuko, who have also kindly offered their help in times my brain was utterly fried. 
> 
> If you enjoy my writing, would like to talk about my works, or just have a chat, click the link below to join our Discord "The Unholy Trinity"  
> https://discord.gg/dV3r5ZubBN

Bright, warm rays of sunlight were pooling on Rogue’s face, waking him from a sleep that he’d meant to stay in for much, much longer. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, both to keep that sunlight out and as an automatic response to the headache that registered as he became more awake. He also noticed his head wasn’t the only part of his body that hurt. His throat was scratchy like he’d just chain-smoked a pack full of cigarettes or had been screaming at the top of his lungs for 5 minutes straight, and his muscles were as sore as they’d be after a day of excessive working out. His stomach felt like it would go into full ejection mode if he’d move around too much, and all those things combined made him determined to stay in bed and try to sleep it off until he felt at least a bit more human.    
  
The only problem, though, was that goddamn sunlight.    
  
Rogue quickly realized that he could forget about his precious sleep unless he closed the blinds, something he had serious regrets about not doing last night. Reluctant to get up, he pulled the blanket over his head. His arm felt like it weighed a ton when he moved it, and for some strange reason, there was resistance when he tugged at the fabric. 

_ What the… _

Suddenly he was wide awake, reaching the startling conclusion that he wasn't alone in his bed. 

_ Wait _ , was it even his bed? 

He peeked through his lashes, relieved to recognize the sheets as his own, but that still did nothing to answer the burning question of  _ who the fuck _ was laying right next to him. 

He kind of wanted to know, because he now also realized he was buck naked and had a nagging suspicion why, but he wasn't mentally or physically ready to turn around and face this mystery person yet. Instead, he tried his best to dig up his memories from the previous night, hoping he'd be able to deduce it that way.   


He'd gone to Natsu and Gray’s place to celebrate Natsu's birthday. Cana had shown up with enough booze to put them all in a coma, and they'd tossed it back in silly drinking games just like they had in college. 

_ Oh God...  _

Rogue’s stomach flipped in revolt at the mere thought of alcohol, and it was almost as if he could still smell the tequila. He covered his mouth with his hand, taking deep breaths and willing the wave of nausea away, hurrying on to another landmark in the maze of his blurry recollections   


At some point, Erza had walked in with a big cake, singing a horribly off-key version of the Happy Birthday song. Thinking about that cake wasn't doing his monster hangover any good either, but it brought him back to the safer memory of a party decoration catching on fire. After that, everything was a big, empty black hole.   


Now fully convinced that sleep was off the menu until he'd put his mind at ease and found out who he'd brought home with him last night, Rogue saw no other option than to just see for himself. He turned around, slowly and carefully, feeling his poor stomach drop as he pried his eyes open and found himself face to face with-

_ Sting?! _

His best friend was still dead to the world. How the hell that was possible when the sun was beaming directly onto his face, Rogue didn’t know. What he could say for certain now was that he hadn't imagined the tequila smell. 

_ Did he get just as drunk last night? Worse? Is he even okay? _

Sting looked paler than usual, half of his hair defied gravity while other parts were sticking to his face, and- 

_ Are those hickeys or bruises? _

The good news was that he was definitely still breathing. In fact, despite his wretched appearance, he looked obnoxiously peaceful. Blissfully unaware of the state they were in. 

_ Should I wake him up? _   


Before Rogue had decided, Sting stirred next to him, his features twisting in pain as his eyes fluttered open. He squinted and stared at Rogue in confusion for a good 10 seconds before he finally spoke. 

"Why do I smell like I'm marinating in tequila?" he puzzled, sniffing himself and scrunching up his nose in disgust. He shifted on the mattress, eyes widening slightly as he seemed to come to a realization.

“Wait... Did we…?”   


His voice was hoarse, and Rogue's wasn't any better. He had to clear his throat before he could produce more than a croak.    
  
"Maybe we didn't-" Rogue tried to bargain against better judgment, "maybe it's not what it looks like?" But then he forced himself to sit up and look around his bedroom.   


There was a trail of clothes leading from the door to the bed, the reading lamp that used to be on his nightstand was now in shatters on the floor, and the most condemning piece of evidence would have to be the used condom that had missed the trash can. 

By far. 

But hey, on the bright side, at least they'd used one. That alone might be the most baffling discovery- how they’d pulled it all off while shit-faced drunk.   


"Never mind," he groaned, burying his face in his hands.   


“I figured,” Sting whined miserably, “I could kinda tell without looking.”   


"Do you remember any of it?" Rogue asked, the need to know surpassing any anxiety the answer was sure to cause him. If what he suspected may have happened was correct, and Sting had any recollections of it, that could seriously complicate their friendship.

But Sting shook his head, apparently using more force than he could handle because he hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut again. “Last thing I remember is…” he paused, brows furrowing in concentration, “Lyon passing out and Gray drawing on his face with a sharpie.” 

Rogue reached for his phone on his nightstand, both hoping and dreading to find out more details from the previous night in the group chat they shared with the rest of their friends, but he found the surface empty. Of course, it wasn’t there; drunk him had obviously had other priorities than putting his things away neatly last night.    
  
“I’m so glad it’s you, though. Could’ve been Loke,” Sting joked, but the amusement that graced his features was short lived.   
  
Rogue gave a weak nod, although he wasn’t sure if he agreed. Yes, if he’d had to have blackout drunk sex at all, he was glad it had been with Sting rather than with pretty much anyone else. They’d known each other for a long time, and there was no one he trusted more.

But having it be Sting also created a slew of complications he didn’t think he was ready to face.   


He took a deep breath, bracing himself before he got out of bed, and he swore he could feel Sting’s eyes on him. He turned back around to find Sting indeed following his movements, eyeing his backside with slight stupor.   


“Are you... staring at my ass?”   


“I’m not- Sure, it's in my line of sight,” Sting shrugged, “and no offense to your ass or anything, but it’s not the main attention grabber at the moment.”   


Rogue moved to his closet, which had a mirror door, and immediately regretted looking in it. He looked just about as awful as he felt. His hair resembled a bird’s nest, and his skin was ghostly pale, making the dark circles under his eyes and the purplish blemishes similar to Sting’s stand out all the more. He turned to view his back, gaping at the sight of angry red scratches on his shoulder blades, and guessed he should’ve been careful what he wished for when he’d gone looking for more details about last night. This was the mental picture he hadn’t been prepared for.   


“Consider it a compliment, I guess."   
  
And that just made it worse.   
  
“I’m going to take a shower,” Rogue announced, brain devoid of any other response or comment. His cheeks were burning, their red hue a brilliant match to those scratches, while the rest of his body was cold from fatigue.    
  
He grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and pajamas from his closet, and fled straight to the bathroom. He needed that shower. To warm up, get clean, and hopefully feel a bit more alive. Maybe then he could think more clearly and figure out how they had gotten to this point. 

0-0  
  
  
A few minutes of self pep-talk after Rogue's departure, Sting began the torturous task of picking up their clothes from the floor. It felt like his skull was splitting open each time he bent down, and walking was… somewhat uncomfortable, but his efforts paid off. Sort of. He got what he wanted when he found both of their phones, still in the pockets of their pants, but the batteries were dead. 

He threw the clothes in the hamper, including his own. There was no way he was wearing those, going outside smelling like he had tequila for breakfast-  _ and lunch _ , he noted, looking at the digital alarm clock on the desk. He spotted a spare charger among the clump of cables there as well, and struggled to stay focused enough to untangle it while the room started spinning.    
  
_ Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke...  _   
  
He didn't puke, which was a personal victory. Rogue was less lucky, judging from the sounds that were coming from the bathroom.   
  
_ Hahaha, sucker. _   
  
Tiptoeing around the glass shards of the broken reading lamp, he made his way back towards the bed as fast as he could manage. He cracked open a window to let some fresh air in, closed the blinds, and connected both of their phones to a charger before settling back under the sheets, declining any and every movement for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time.    
  
“Hey, get up.”    
  
Sting groaned at the sudden sound, and the blankets that were callously ripped away from him, waking him from what felt like only a few minutes of sleep. He pried one eye open and found Rogue, hair still damp but dressed in pajamas, pulling the blanket out of its cover at the foot of the bed.   
  
“Don’t wanna,” he huffed, hugging himself to combat the chill from the breeze that came in through the open window.    
  
“Please?” Rogue sighed, too tired to argue. “I just want to change the damn sheets. You can get back in once you’ve showered, for all I care.”   
  
The prospect of fresh sheets and not smelling of tequila, combined with the pressure of a full bladder that was given an extra trigger by the cold, were enough for Sting to cave and get up. He waited this time, standing next to the bed with his arms extended for balance until he was sure that the world would stay still.    
  
“Okay, yeah, I’m good,” he assured himself before hobbling to the bathroom, one reluctant step at a time.    
  
He used the toilet and gulped down a couple of painkillers with three glasses of water, giving them time to kick in while he took a much appreciated shower. By the time he got back to the bedroom, there were clothes waiting for him on the desk, and Rogue was already back in bed, blankets pulled up all the way over his head.    
  
Sting snorted, noticing that instead of cleaning up the reading lamp's remains, Rogue had just swept it all under the bed. He grabbed the clothes Rogue had laid out for him, surprised to see it was a pair of his own pajamas.   
  
“So that’s where they were,” he mumbled to himself as he put them on.   
  
“You left them last time,” Rogue’s voice sounded, muffled by the blankets, “you know, when you showed up here, unannounced, and stayed for a week?”

“My entire apartment complex was without warm water. What was I supposed to do?” Sting rolled his eyes and climbed back into bed, wrestling the blankets out of Rogue’s grasp. 

“I don’t know, go back to your dad’s place, maybe?” 

“Yours was closer,” he shrugged, grabbing his phone from the nightstand where he'd left it to charge. It had enough battery power to start, so he decided to take a quick peek at the chat before settling in for another few hours of sleep.   
  
_ Sonofa… _ _  
_ _  
_ He had to squint at his screen, which, at full brightness, was about as blinding as a construction light. He hurried to lower it, and turned off the notification sounds as well, because just like he expected, the ones he’d missed were all rapidly pouring in. 

_ 86 Unread messages?!  _   
  
The bottom one read:  _ Good luck with that _ , sent by Lucy as a response to a picture Natsu had taken of his and Gray’s trashed living room. There were empty bottles and plastic cups on every surface, and confetti and crumbs of various snacks littered the floor. Understandably, it sported the caption  _ FML _ .    
  
_ Good luck with that, indeed.  _   
  
Scrolling up, Sting snorted loudly when he reached the next picture, a selfie of Natsu by the couch, where Lyon was still conked out with a face full of badly drawn dicks.    
  
- _ He’s still here  _ 😂 _  
_ _  
_ There was some conversation between a few of their friends before that, but Sting didn’t bother reading it. 

_ Fuck it, that's way too many words.  _

He kept scrolling until he found what he’d been looking for: footage from the party in full swing. Of course there was the staple material, like a video of Natsu dancing on a table, a picture of him blowing out the candles, a blurry image of Natsu and Gray mid-cake fight, and a group picture taken when they weren’t staggering on their feet yet. A funny newcomer was a burning Happy Birthday banner, and then Sting reached a brief exchange between Cana and Loke.   
  
- _ Rogue wasted all the tequila _ 😭

  
- _ I wouldn’t call that wasting _ 😏   
  
That sparked his curiosity, as did the video Loke had shared. The first few seconds were indistinct, the camera moving around too fast, but the cheers and hollers in the background immediately let him know that something exciting must be going on. Sting recognized the sound of his own laughter, and Rogue’s voice slurring to  _ hold still _ , which caused Rogue to emerge from the blanket and peer over his shoulder.    
  
They watched, stunned, as the view shifted to the table, where Sting was laying, a giggling, drunk mess, as Rogue licked salt and tequila off his bare stomach.    
  
_ Oh. Well, that explains a lot. _   
  
“You forgot the lime!” Natsu shouted over all the noise, quickly shoving a slice of lime in Sting’s mouth.   
  
“Oh no, now you have to do it again! What a shame!” Loke’s voice, sounding more clear than any of the others because he was the bastard behind the camera. Then again, yeah, that made sense.    
  
And Rogue did do it again, without protest, pouring salt and way more tequila than he’d probably intended, licking it all off with a boozy grin. He finished it by eating the lime out of Sting’s mouth in what looked an awful lot like a kiss.   
  
_ I don’t remember that, though... _

The video ended, and Sting felt movement behind him, looking over his shoulder only to see Rogue had vanished under the blanket again.    
  
"Hey, hold up-” he dove in after him, using the light from his phone screen to illuminate their dark hideout just enough so he could catch the pout on Rogue’s face.    
  
“Are you upset?”    
  
Rogue didn’t answer, only groaned and buried his face into his pillow. 

“Only you can still overthink things while hungover,” Sting chuckled, shaking his head. “Go sleep. Whatever mountain you’re seeing now will look like a molehill when you feel better.”  
  
He went back up and put his phone away, intending to follow his own advice. He’d deal with the teasing later, when he wasn’t technically still drunk, and his headache wasn’t seconds away from making a grand comeback.   
  
“Thanks for not making this _that_ awkward.” Rogue squeezed his hand lightly. “And uhm...sorry for hurting you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Now sleep.” Sting said, pulling the covers over their heads in an attempt to lighten the mood. He was relieved when Rogue finally heeded his words, turning on his side and adjusting the blankets around him until he looked like a giant burrito. 

Sting waited for a few minutes, listening for the telltale sounds of Rogue’s snores before settling down next to him. He closed his eyes in the hopes of joining Rogue in sleep, but he wasn’t that lucky. Despite the pounding headache, his mind refused to shut down, choosing instead to focus on one of the memories he still had from last night. The words he’d remembered a drunk Rogue saying to him at the party repeated themselves over and over, and Sting couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it had been his own recklessness that had set the events in motion.


End file.
